"With all my heart," said the doctor, "go ahead;" and he shoved over to
him a little penknife that was on the table.

The reporter took the package, ran the knife around the edge, and opened
it. There lay six capsules, filled, as the doctor had said. Roland
picked up one of them, and looked at it critically.

"I assure you," he said, "although I am quite aware you do not believe a
word I say, that I have not seen those capsules before."

He drew towards him a piece of paper, opened the capsule, and, let the
white powder fall on the paper. He looked critically at the powder, and
a shade of astonishment came over his face. He picked up the penknife,
took a particle on the tip of it, and touched it with his tongue.

"Don't fool with that thing!" said Stratton.

"Oh, my dear fellow," he said, "morphia is not a poison in small
quantities."

The moment he had tasted it, however, he suddenly picked up the paper,
put the five grains on his tongue, and swallowed them.

Instantly the reporter sprang to his feet. He saw at once the reason for
all the assumed coolness. The doctor was merely gaining time in order to
commit suicide.

"What have you done?" cried the reporter.